


Silken Sartorial Sneak

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Series: Hearts Over Fitton [4]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, Ties, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only Martin—professional, persnickety, and occasionally pompous Martin—would use Valentine's Day as an opportunity to critique Carl's professional appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silken Sartorial Sneak

Mornings, more specifically, mornings on which he and Martin had to report to the airfield, were both the best and worst part of Carl’s day.

He loved having Martin around, adding more life to the flat, and his presence was most evident in the morning when they were both waking up, dressing, and hurrying through a light breakfast before heading out the door. Martin almost always woke before him and Carl loved waking up to the smell of coffee and a pre-heated shower. However, Martin moved at quicker pace than Carl did and he wasn’t shy about reminding Carl to hustle if he felt Carl was even a minute behind schedule. Their mornings were either quiet or loud with very little in between.

And Carl wouldn’t have it any other way.

Valentine’s Day was no excuse to deviate from the schedule.

Carl stood in front of the full length closet mirror, struggling to do up his shirt buttons, cursing their lack of cooperation as one or two slipped beneath his fingers in haste. He didn’t know the time but he knew Martin was ready; he’d heard Martin doing the washing up while he was brushing his teeth and that had been almost ten minutes ago. It was only a matter of time before impatient and insistent reminders started coming down the hall.

He finally finished the last button – technically the second to the last because Carl never did up all the buttons – and quickly tucked in his shirt before running a hand through his hair and turning to leave. He was more than a little surprised to see Martin standing behind him, beside their bed, instead of at his post by the front door. Carl reached him in two strides and met him with a kiss.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Martin smiled.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Carl grinned, returning the sentiment. He was ready to go but as he went for the door he was stopped by the feel of a box being pressed into his hand. He looked down at the gift, wrapped in red paper and tied with a white bow, then back up at Martin questioningly. “Now?” he asked. “Don’t we have to go?”

“We have some time,” Martin told him. He guided Carl to sit down on the bed with him. “I woke you up early and set the clock forward thirty minutes so you wouldn’t notice.”

“What?” Carl grabbed Martin’s arm and compared the time on his watch to the time on the bedside clock; the clock was running thirty minutes fast. “Bastard,” he grumbled, shaking his head, unable to pull down the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He knew Martin saw the rogue smile; Martin grinned and tapped the box in his hand.

“Open it,” he suggested.

Carl didn’t have to be told twice. He tore quickly through the wrapping, depositing the discarded paper and ribbon into Martin’s open hand. He was eager to see what Martin had gotten him that would warrant a thirty minute deviation from the morning schedule. Carl opened the box and his anticipation immediately faded on seeing the contents.

“You got me a tie?”

Martin nodded through Carl’s incredulous stare, looking very pleased with himself and not seeming to see any problem with what Carl was holding.

“What’s wrong with that?” Martin asked, realization finally settling on his face.

Carl couldn’t believe he had to explain it. “Martin, you know I don’t wear ties.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Martin sighed, eyeing Carl’s open collar pointedly. “I wish you would though. The lack of a tie really hurts your professional appearance.”

“But I don’t wear them,” Carl reminded him. “You _know_ I don’t. Why would you get me a _tie_ for Valentine’s Day?”

Carl bit his tongue but it was already too late. He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He knew they didn’t have time to get into it right now. He knew he didn’t want to have this all too familiar argument again; not today, not now, not when they were ahead of schedule.

He knew but he wasn’t the one who’d given a well-known point of contention as a Valentine’s Day gift.

To his surprise, Martin didn’t bristle or grow defensive; he actually smiled.

Martin took the box from Carl’s hand and removed the tie, draping it over his arm. It was black, Carl assumed so that it could be worn with anything, and was probably made of silk, judging by the label on the inside of the box. The fabric held a shine without being too glossy and was striped diagonally in a pattern so fine that the lines were barely noticeable unless it caught the light just right.

“You have to admit,” Martin said, moving next to Carl, pressing up against his side. “It’s really very nice.”

Martin’s blatant attempt to sell the tie told Carl that they wouldn’t be arguing today. He relaxed a little and humored Martin, fingering the fabric, which was silk as he assumed.

“‘Nice,’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.”

“What word would you use?”

“Sneaky,” Carl answered. Martin’s brow arched in its signature ‘Really, Carl?’ manner but he pressed on; Martin knew what he was doing and Carl knew he knew. “You know that I care about you,” he said, stating what he hoped was an obvious fact. “And because I care about you, you know that I’m going to feel guilty if I don’t wear this tie because you gave it to me _even though_ ,” Carl emphasized, “you know I don’t wear ties.”

Martin grinned in the face of Carl’s accusation and Carl found his smugness both enticing and irritating.

“What if I told you there was more?” Martin asked, unfolding the tie and threading the length through his fingers.

“What?” Carl scoffed. “Did you get me a tie pin too?”

“No,” Martin answered, shaking his head. “Not this time.”

Carl rolled his eyes at the open ended answer, wondering how soon the alluded to tie pin would show up. Martin turned Carl’s shoulders towards him so they were facing one another and he buttoned up the last button of Carl’s shirt. Carl sat still, out of curiosity more than anything, as Martin flipped up his collar and ran the tie underneath it.

“What if I told you,” Martin said, eyes glancing up from his hands momentarily to meet Carl’s, “that whenever you wear this tie, I won’t wear underwear?”

Carl blinked, looking for the turn he’d obviously missed in Martin’s eyes. “What?”

“Whenever you wear this tie,” Martin said again, tightening the knot against Carl’s throat, “I won’t wear pants. Think about it.”

Carl was already thinking about it. Martin – professional, persnickety, and occasionally pompous Martin – was suggesting that he would go out into the world without wearing underwear as long as Carl was wearing the tie. The thought of not only being privy to but also having control over Martin going commando tightened Carl’s already constricted throat. He thought back on all the times that Martin had pestered him to wear a tie: dates, dinners, day shifts…

“Even at-“

“Even at work,” Martin confirmed, breathing the words into Carl’s ear as he turned down his collar.

“Th-that…”

Carl couldn’t quite operate his tongue as he intended. Instead of forming words, it slipped out to wet his lips as he thought about Martin flying, talking to him over the comm, all without any pants on.

“That is…” he tried again, losing his train of thought as a hand settled high on his thigh. Martin’s laugh brought him out of his lewd daydreams and Carl turned to see him grinning knowingly. “That is _so_ sneaky,” he finally managed as Martin laughed again. “You, Martin Crieff, are a sneaky bastard.”

“Perhaps,” Martin conceded. He reached out to straighten Carl’s tie. “But I’m sneaky bastard who will finally be going out with a man who dresses like a proper professional.”

“Professional git,” Carl complained, pushing away Martin’s meddling hands.

“But still, a professional,” Martin reiterated, ending the exchange with a kiss.

Carl fell easily under Martin’s advances, already too turned on by the discussion of Martin going without pants to want to be anywhere other than pressed against him. He ran his hands through Martin’s hair as mouths opened and tongues met, trying to resist the urge to undress him as he didn’t know how far this morning escapade would go. Martin turned them fully so he could throw his leg over Carl’s body, straddling him as he sunk his fingers into Carl’s hair.

Something about the weight of Martin’s body pressing down on him triggered a thought in Carl’s mind.

“I’m wearing it now,” he panted, pulling himself temporarily out of the kiss.

“And?” Martin asked, dropping down to kiss his jaw instead.

“The tie,” Carl pointed out, holding up the end so Martin could see. “I’m wearing the tie. I’m holding up my end of the deal.”

Martin paused in his mouthing over Carl’s neck to grab the hand Carl was using to wield his tie and push it down between their bodies. He covered his groin with both his and Carl’s hand, thrusting into the touch so Carl could get the full effect. A groan escaped Carl’s mouth as he felt Martin’s cock pulse in his hand, every ridge and curve easily discernable through Martin’s trousers.

“So am I,” Martin growled beside his ear, nipping at Carl’s neck as he stroked him. Martin raised his head to meet Carl’s eyes, that damnable grin gracing his lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Carl.”

Martin brought their mouths together again, reestablishing the kiss, and Carl matched him, grin for grin, kiss for kiss.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Carl smiled, holding Martin to him by his tie, “you sneaky bastard.”


End file.
